A groan escaped my lips as I attempted to roll to the other side as Andy clicked his tongue and tried the same bar for the twentieth time. The pain tearing through my skin and muscles reminded me why I couldn't. "For Lochrame's sake, stop fiddling and keep it down!" I screamed, yanking one of my pillows and chucking it at the solitary figure facing the windows. The soft, white rectangle slapped Andy's leg before toppling without a sound on the rug. "I haven't gotten any proper sleep for three days! Go to the conservatory, please."

Andy whipped around, his bow swiveling down. "I'm not the one who chose to fall through the glasshouse ceiling and injure an entire arm," he answered. "Grow up."

I winced, the memory still fresh in my mind. After I let go of the ledge, I had a moment of clarity that I was going to die. Then, the world came crashing in an instant, my shoulder slamming against the murky sheet of glass. Alexi Jansen wasn't kidding when he said the shutters and panes needed replacing. Shards rained down on me as I shot through the bare bones of the ceiling. Sticks of dried straw obscured most of my vision, but I remembered Andy's smug smile glowering down on me, followed by the light footsteps belonging to Alexi Jansen and a dozen kittens' yowls.

The next thing I knew, the white strobe lights of the infirmary bore down on me. Nurses dressed like Mrs. Lemorpha flitted around, and when they were done, my consciousness was back. That was when Mr. Proleau dropped in with a massive frown on his face. I remembered shirking on the infirmary mattress, hands bunching up the blankets over my numb legs as if I wanted to duck underneath.

"If I recall, I specifically asked you to keep it quiet," the Magistrate said on my bedside. Seeing him outside of his office and looking up at him from a hospice bed with a cast down my arm removed the sanctity of the meeting. "You just had to announce it in the loudest way possible."

I looked down at my hands. "I'm...sorry," I muttered, building up the image of guilt. "But I had no idea he would go after me in the spire, so I just—"

"I understand, Arlo," Mr. Proleau interjected, making my head snap up and my gaze land on him. The Magistrate took a deep breath and tucked his hands behind him almost like my father did. "We, at Lyllan University, put our students' safety and interest on the top priority. I apologize on behalf of the entire academic council and board of directors for failing to detect Mr. Delcher's hostility towards you and the rest of the elite."

"Won't the Ocalira hear my statement?" I ventured. Because if so, why weren't they there yet? Those officers as well as a horde of journalists and print writers should have been clamoring outside at this hour. This was a big scoop.

Mr. Proleau kissed his teeth, casting a quick look at the infirmary door. It remained silent, with no sign of blinking red lights. "Your father has expressed, rather explicitly, that he doesn't want you anywhere near anyone from the Ocalira and the press," he said. "Something about staying out of the spotlight?"

He didn't need to elaborate for me to get it. My father preferred moving in the dark, straightening crooked figures and mopping up any messes from the shadows. He would no doubt track Ethan Delcher on the boy's way to prison and bring him what he deserved. I remembered my gut roiling back then, but nothing could be done. Crowhavens do not forget, and they do not forgive either.

I still gave Mr. Proleau my version of events, in which I painted Ethan Delcher as an anti-elite criminal who only targeted children of the elite families by framing them up for some kind of conspiracy. I was the first of his targets, pinning the infamous name of an underground potion-dealer to me when I have little to do about it. When I caught on to his activities after Horace Prescott's murder, he switched tactics and came directly at me. Things escalated until we reached the incident in the spire.

It was a neat story tying the loose ends. Ethan got the justice he deserved, and I got away scott-free, both as Ranacrys and as Arlo Crowhaven. A perfect, happy ending. Ethan's sentiment, about me killing his sister by driving them out of the complex I bought, sat at the back of my mind. Why would I feel guilty? I meant what I said at the spire. It wasn't my fault I had the Crowns to purchase the complex's title. What those tenants did with their time wasn't any of my concern. The elite shouldn't bow down to common folk even if they think they knew better.

After a full day at the infirmary, they sent me to my room and advised me to stay put without any strenuous activities for the next week. Which meant getting stuck in bed listening to Andy shred the same concerto day in, day out. By the third day, I was about to lose my mind. I was close to marching to Mr. Proleau's office and demanding a different room with a different neighbor, but if I got bloody Alexi Jansen, I would pack up and head home. But as Andy kept reminding me, I was stuck in bed and in my room until further notice.

The wounds weren't that bad. Neither were the broken bones. A simple potion for each problem would have done the trick; I just needed the right ingredients. But without access to a proper laboratory and equipment, or even a functional arm, I was as useful as a wad of damp cloth.

Andy turned his back to me, bringing his violin back up. Taking a deep breath, he drove the bow upward, starting the phrase. "Why did you help me, then?" I interjected, earning another exasperated tongue-clicking. Andy whirled to find me smirking at him. If he didn't want to shut up, I wouldn't either, and neither of us would get anything done. Didn't he say his recital was this week? Maybe I could piss him off enough to kick him to the Conservatory. "If you're so keen on making my life miserable even though I don't deserve it, why would you help me?"

Indeed, it was Andy who proposed the reckless spire-jumping escapade. I would have been content getting my head bashed against the bell or even tumbling down the stairs, but Andy was more of an exhibitionist. "Think about it," Andy said to me back then in such a conspiratorial whisper I thought we were robbing the treasury. "If you fall from the spire, it's bound to tickle Proleau's feathers the wrong way."

So, I gave Ethan an option, and true to Andy's prediction, I fell to my death. And if Andy and Alexi didn't pile up straw up to the ceiling, I would have splattered on the glasshouse floor, my blood watering Jansen's daffodils.

A soft chuckle rang from Andy's frame. The light streaming from the windows formed a penumbral halo around the older boy. "Bored, and frankly the case was interesting as it developed," he said. "And I get to take care of rubbish along the way."

I cast a look around the room. Clutter abounded, and the crumpled sheets and discarded clothes on the floor haven't moved an inch closer to their respective bins. What rubbish? A memory of white clicked in my head. Andy chuckled upon noticing the realization on my face. "The rubbish." I wagged a finger of my uninjured arm into Andy's direction. "Was it Ethan?"

Andy hummed. "The poor sod tried to do me in after hearing me refuse you," he said. "If it wasn't for me, you would have become a serial murderer."

Maybe Ethan was going for a narrative where I start killing my acquaintances off the moment they were of no use to me, and Andy sensed that. It wouldn't be a far leap to conclude my roommate knew Ethan eavesdropped on my conversations that day. Ethan picked a difficult opponent, and that was his doom. Andy was a master marksman, an excellent fencer, and even if he was as laid-back as a week-old celery stalk, a martial arts master. The new slate wouldn't get an inch into Andy's personal space, and from the injury Ethan tried to lie about, Andy went easy on him.

But maybe it was because of that failed attempt that Ethan sped up his plan, causing more headaches for me than he intended. "Am I supposed to be grateful for that?" I blurted aloud. Knowing Andy, he read my entire thought process on the way my hair flitted against the nonexistent wind passing through our room. Then, I frowned. "So you knew who he was and lied to me!"

His only answer was a quick run of the phrase he kept having trouble with. The notes were clear, and the flow was smooth. It was perfect, and if he wasn't hurrying the practice along, it would have sounded soothing. "You figured it out in the end," he replied in a quiet voice. "You didn't need me, did you?"

I snorted, throwing my legs off the bed and stalking to where my pillow landed. My fingers wrapped around the edges and dragged it back to my rest place. I gave it a pat and was about to settle down when Andy's voice floated past my shoulder. "I trust you've learned your lesson." He didn't bother turning, flipping a page of his music sheet here and there. "Those in power are bound to earn the ire of the masses, so don't push your luck. You might end up breaking more than an arm."

"You should worry more about your own neck than mine, but thank you for the thought," I answered, whipping towards him. A smile picked at the corners of my lips. "And let's not forget—I'm Arlo Crowhaven. Naturally, I'm going to break that trust."